


Black Box

by reenjames



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anger, Angst, Birthday, Comfort, Crying, Dark doesn't know how to handle emotions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Markiplier - Freeform, Platonic Relationship, Platonic but could turn into something else later, Violence, Who Killed Markiplier?, Wilford is unintentionally the cause of those emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reenjames/pseuds/reenjames
Summary: Today was the day that Dark had been introduced on the channel all those years ago, his "birthday", but he preferred to keep that to himself. That was his business and his alone. However, when he is ready to turn in for the night, he notices a small box on his pillow that would cause his carefully maintained facade of neutrality to come crashing down around him.





	Black Box

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This is my first attempt at writing Dark and Wilford. Boy, are they tough to write. Wilford more so for some reason. I did my best though, so there's that. I still have so many WKM feels, so this handles some of them. 
> 
> A few things: 1) I know Mark didn't delete Dark's intro video, but in this he did, 2) I really liked the idea that Dark burned down the mansion like the discussed having him do, and 3) we all know that Wilford definitely gives the best hugs and Dark could definitely use a couple of those. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

Cracks radiated from the door frame after Dark slammed it behind him. Finally in the sanctuary of his bedroom, he allowed himself to rest his head on the cool wood in front of him. He took a shuttering sigh in an attempt to center himself, but failed miserably. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was feeling emotional; he couldn’t help but feel that way. This day, all those years ago, was the day that Mark had brought him into existence. These “introduction days” were something the other egos had taken to referring to as their birthdays, but Dark despised that term. He didn’t think the day was any cause for celebration. He wasn’t born. He didn’t ask for this. On these days, he chose to isolate himself. Thankfully, when Mark created his new channel, Dark’s introduction was deleted. Yes, someone savvy could find the date, but he believed no one had bothered. He therefore retained the belief that none of the egos knew his “birthday”. That, or they were merely too frightened to confront him about it. Dark preferred the latter.

The others knew he was an obsessively private man, so when he was more flippant and distant than usual today, they refrained from asking him why. Honestly, Dark was grateful they stayed away. Not only did that allow him to avoid the inevitable, questioning glances, but also the considerate self-doubt he felt today surrounding his ability to conceal his emotions. After all, that’s what Dark did best—put on a blank expression and keep his head on straight. Unfortunately, today was the day that that mask slipped more often than he would have liked. Dark thanked whoever was listening that Wilford hadn’t been around in those moments; thankful that he wasn’t here right now to see him crumble. The latter was an afterthought half-heartedly formed as Damien and Celine pleaded to him in the back of his mind to seek Wilford out as they had in their moments of weakness.

With a sneer, Dark punched the door and pushed himself away from the offending object. He stripped off his tie followed by his jacket which landed unceremoniously on top of his desk. The rush of air that accompanied the landing of the jacket scattered the papers onto the floor. Dark couldn’t bring himself to care as he sat on his bed to remove his shoes. He toed them off and faced the headboard, readying himself to fall into what he hoped would be blissful, static-filled oblivion. He faltered when his eyes landed on an elegant black box wrapped with a red satin bow. It was placed with obvious care in the center of his pillow. Clenching his teeth, he picked up the card that tucked under the bow. He immediately recognized the swirling handwriting, released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and read:

D-

I figured we should make it official.

You’ve always been a too big for your

britches.

-W

Dark unenthusiastically scoffed at the words. Leave it to Wilford to insult him on his birthday. What else did he expect the man to do though? He should have realized that Wilford wouldn’t make his absence so conspicuous without cause. He must have been out of the manor purchasing Dark’s gift. And how had he discovered his birthday? It didn’t surprise Dark, the man really was suited for that blasted reporting nonsense no matter how much criticism his unique methods garnered.

A smirk quirking the corner of his mouth, he untied the satin and removed the lid. He opened the fabric insert as though it were a book. His heart caught in his throat as he flinched back. Had that been what he thought? It’s not possible. Tentatively, he reached out and pulled back the insert, revealing half of the item. Dark silently cursed himself for always being right. Hand shaking from some forgotten emotion, Dark pulled the black ribbon from the box. He ran his thumb over the affixed button that proclaimed the wearer “Mayor”.

Dark felt Damien’s spirit flicker so violently within himself that an unwarranted, choked sob left him that was followed not long after by fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Dark closed his eyes so tightly they ached. He reverently held the ribbon in front of him as he examined it. The same. It was the same. Was it Damien’s? No, it couldn’t be. Dark destroyed the mansion. Burned it to the ground. Then how?

Celine’s spirit snapped to attention and blurred Damien’s softer emotions. Anger. Ah, Dark was well-acquainted with that. This type of anger, however, he hadn’t felt before. The edges were tinged with something akin to anguish. The whir of emotions caused the ringing that cocooned Dark to intensify. He stormed to the door; he had to find Wilford. He was unconcerned with the other egos. They didn’t dare approach him when he so wildly phased from his tormented red to his somber blue, obscuring his monochromatic self. Dark marched down the hall with tears in his eyes that only ever so slightly softened the menacing scowl.

“Warfstache, where are you? Wilford!” He frantically yelled, the ribbon safely in his pocket and away from his clenching fists.

Wilford popped his head out of the door at the end of the hall. Upon seeing Dark’s face, his expression dropped from jovial to frightened. Dark quickly advanced on him as Wilford hastily backed into the tv studio he called his office. Dark forcefully shut the door behind him. Pinning Wilford to the wall with his forearm, his hand grasped one side of his suspenders. His face was so near Wilford’s that Dark could feel the man’s mustache when he turned his face away in a wince.

“Where did you find it?” Dark questioned, pushing him with increasing force into the wall. Wilford grimaced, baring his teeth as he tried to push back against Dark to no avail.

“W-what are y-you-“ Wilford haltingly attempted to respond before he was cut short by Dark’s biting words.

“Where?! I burned it down, you couldn’t have found it. I burned it, you couldn’t have…” Dark trailed off, repeat the phrase more to himself than Wilford as his eyes went out of focus. Dark’s hold on Wilford lessened as his body started to slacken as though heavy under the weight of the emotions flowing through him. Dark ceased to erratically phase between red and blue, the colors instead outlining him, giving him a soft appearance. Confused, Wilford grasped Dark’s elbows and supported his figure. Wilford held the man in his arms as Dark clung to him as he continued mutterings clouded with agonizing sadness. Wilford awkwardly patted Dark on the back and attempted to peer down at the man. When he did, the confused fright he felt turned into sympathy. He had never seen the man before him be so wracked with emotion let alone shed a tear. Wilford held the man tighter.

“Dark, old boy, I think you’re coming down with something,” Wilford softly commented. When he received no immediate reply, he gave Dark a squeeze and sighed. Presumably overwhelmed by the oddity of the predicament, both men didn’t feel the need to add their words to the situation. Wilford had remained uncharacteristically and blessedly quiet while Dark calmed down until, muffled by the shirt he was held against, Dark answered the man a few minutes later.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you there,” Wilford questioned softly as he held the man away from him to better hear his answer.

“William, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had to do it, I had to, I had to.”

“William? It’s good old Warfy here, Dark. I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about. You didn’t do anything, don’t be silly, leave that to me. What did you ‘have to do’?” Again the question went unanswered as Dark focused his gaze anywhere but Wilford’s. Wilford twitched his mustache with lips pursed in thought. Drawing in a short, sharp breath, he posited, “Is this about that spiffy ribbon I got you? It was a joke! Just try to breathe. Nothing to get upset about, Dark.”

Dark listened to him. He didn’t feel as though he had any other choice at the moment given that he obviously couldn’t trust himself. He recognized that he needed to regain control. At the back of his mind, he could feel Damien and Celine retreating to its recesses, satisfied that he was in the company of their former companion.

“There you are, my good man,” Wilford encouraged. He now held him at arm’s length, apprehensively observing Dark as though expecting a physical or verbal blow to be dealt. When Dark eventually met the other ego’s eyes, Wilford shot him a small smile and gave his arms a final squeeze. Dark swatted Wilford away, causing Wilford to smirk to seeing Dark return to him normal self, no matter how aggressively surly that may be.

“I apologize for acting so irrationally, Wilford. I’ll see myself out,” Dark straightened his shirt and thread his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the mess that it had become. Walking slowly towards the exit, he paused as he grasped the door handle, half-turning to Wilford with fringe covering his eyes. In a muted murmur that Wilford could scarcely make out, Dark added, “Thank you, my friend.”

Leaving Wilford utterly bewildered, Dark stalked down the hall quiet as death. Upon reentering his room, he didn’t return to his bed, instead sitting at his desk and leaning his elbows on the solid wood. He cradled his head in his hands and took a deep breath, blowing out through his nose. Collecting himself, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the ribbon, and debated what to do with it. He couldn’t leave it sitting on his desk or anywhere else in plain sight, but, courtesy of Damien’s remaining sensitivity, he also couldn’t bring himself to discard it either. The ribbon was a reminder of all the events that have passed, but also made him painfully aware of how close not only he was to tipping over the edge, but Wilford as well. A surge of Celine’s protectiveness told him he could never let that happen.

Crossing the room to his bed, he replaced the ribbon in the discarded box. He opened the nightstand drawer and rearranged the contents. When he slotted the box in the back of the drawer, he did so tenderly as though jostling it would cause the earlier emotions to resurface. Even though the influences of Damien and Celine were absent, he adamantly wished that he could return to Wilford’s surprisingly comforting embrace instead of remaining in this delicate limbo between overwrought and numb. He sneered at the thought, reprimanding himself for being so incredibly weak. Dark laid on his bed without changing out of his clothes. In a forced attempt to shut the thoughts of today out his mind, he switched off the lamp. He vowed that the events of today were not to be spoken of and he intended to inform Wilford of this tomorrow. As soon as he shut his eyes, he fell into an abyssal numbness devoid of images of the ribbon to further torment him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY. I can't handle Dark being so emotional, so you can only imagine what writing that did. Might develop this Dark/Wilf relationship later, we'll see. 
> 
> Drop a comment if you feel like talking! Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it!


End file.
